


Here We Are

by aphytick



Category: Ideal (TV)
Genre: M/M, warning for suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 23:23:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphytick/pseuds/aphytick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>...and I can't think from all the pills, hey. Lee realises he has nothing left to lose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here We Are

**Author's Note:**

> Another Ideal fic from about a year and a half ago. Still holding out for a Silicon Valets reunion in the movie. Title from Just Tonight by The Pretty Reckless.

It's been four months. Four entire fucking months. This is the longest Lee's gone without seeing Jason, the longest he hasn't had to put up with his stupid fucking face grinning at stupid shit. He wasn't copping off with some bird with legs longer than her criminal record, or lying dead in a ditch off some road, but maybe it'd be better if he was. No, he just left in a flurry of harsh words and lazy fists.

_"You know what, Lee, you're such a knobhead"_

_"That's rich! You're a fucking sellout, Jase, look at you! Remember when this was about the music?"_

_"Who's the one who does everything the company says like a dog?"_

_"Fuck off! I'm doing this for the BAND. What the fuck are you doing?"_

_"Trying to SELL."_

_"Yeah? Well you can do that on your own. I don't need you!"_

_"Pch, right. You'd be lost without me!"_

_"We'll see about that! Now fuck away off,_ Jason. _"_

_"FINE. Don't give a fuck about Silicon Valets any more anyway. I don't give a fuck about YOU."_

Lee knew he was lying, about the band at least, and speaking through his wounded pride, but the words stung and made him angry. He shoved Jason against the door, biting down on his bottom lip hard as he hissed, back jabbing in to the doorknob. Jason reciprocated by driving his fist in to Lee's stomach and shoving him away, swiping his sleeve over his mouth and he flung the door open. He paused before pursing his lips and spitting in his former best friends face, before slamming it. Lee stood staring at the door, chest heaving and jumpy as the records fell to the floor and smashed. Raising his fist, he beat the already splintered wood, bruising and busting his knuckles with each punch. Choking back furious sobs, he pressed his back flush to the pine, sliding down until his hands were balled up at his sides and his head was buried in his knees.

"He'll be back" he told himself "he wouldn't leave me."

But he did, and four months later Lee had done nothing but amble around his flat, unshaven, barely washed and drinking more than a sailor on leave. Money was tight. Moz was worried about the lad and how often he stumbled over at three in the morning, throwing money and him and saying "do your fucking worst, y'fat cunt", but business was business.

Lee smoked.

Lee shot.

Lee snorted.

Lee swallowed.

Nothing fucking worked. Four months he spent sprawled out on his cold lino floor, stained with whatever he forced down hours before. He was thin, gaunt and weak. He knew he was being a dick, and that this was pointless, but didn't have the energy in him to give a rat's ass. He missed him. By fuck, he missed him. He'd forgotten why he left, and he'd shoot himself before admitting it, but Lee buried his scruffy face in Jason's faded yellow sweater to try and remember where he went wrong. It was a lot more yellowed now, and damp most of the time, but it still smelled entirely of Jason. It was the closest thing he had. One particular night Lee was stretched out on a moth eaten recliner he hauled out of a skip, fingering a button hole of the sweater and drowning himself in whatever dusty bottles he could find in the cabinets. He hands felt for his beat up old Nokia, the only thing he kept with him at all times in the case that, maybe, Jase would call him. He rung the only number in his phone, drunken hands finding it difficult to keep the phone fastened to his ear.

"Ssss'up-uh. This is Jason, and I'm either busy or I just don't fucking like ya. If y'want to book The Becausemonaunts III, ring my manager Tanya and she'll give you all the details, ta."

A few seconds passed, before Lee inhaled shakily and emptied the bottle in to his throat for some liquid courage.

_Here I am, and I can't seem to see straight, but I'm too numb feel right now._

"Uh, hey Jase...on. Jason. It's me. It's Lee. I'm not sure why I'm even ringing you. Might be the...the beer with that Turkey on it doing the talking but....I fucking miss you, mate. Can't even remember why we're not talking, ha. But that's not really why I'm ringing. Don't think I ever told you. Probably should've, now that I think about it. Jase, I love you. I fucking love you, mate. I always have. It's why I wanted to start Silicon Valets in the first place. What's best than being in the band with the person you love, eh? Probably them knowing and loving you back, like, but I took what I could. I've been....I'm a mess. But it's not your fault. I'm sorry. For...whatever. Everything. I'm...miserable. You're probably not even listening, but I wanted to say that. And goodbye. I hope you get everything you wanted, Jase. I hope you become big. And...I hope you remember me."

Lee pressed the end call button. Biting his lip, he let out a ragged and choked sob. Everything was crushing him.

_I don't give a fuck about you._

"I don't give a fuck about me either, mate." he mumbled, shoving himself off the chair and stumbling to the bathroom. Sliding open the medicine cabinet, he scooped bottles and tubes in to his arms before throwing himself back on the recliner. Emptying them out on the side table, he ran his fingers over the ovals, spheres and oblong shapes. Grabbing a hand full, he stuffed them in his mouth, cheeks bulging and throat dry.

"That's for the first record deal." he said, words muffled by the pills and saliva dripping down his chin. He took a swig of sharp, brown liquid swirling in a dank green bottom.

Another fist of whatever the fuck was in the bottles. "For the tours." Another swig.

"For the groupies!"

"For Silicon Valets."

"For the kiss at the junkyard."

"For that time you cried at Homeward Bound."

"For that one time when you slept in my bed because you couldn't sleep."

"For all the times I should have told you everything."

"For you being a prick. For you being the one prick I loved."

His speech was slurred, and his eyelids heavy. His stomach was churning, but he just kept drinking so they would stay down. He'd almost swallowed them all, one solitary tablet falling through his fingers. He picked it up, holding it between his tips and staring at it through lazy, clouded eyes.

"Here's to you, Jase. Maybe I fucking needed you after all."

Lee slid it in to his mouth then stretched himself out on the recliner. His skin was damp and clammy, every single inch of him trembling. He closed his eyes, and his head fell back. After a while, he passed out. His skin cooled, his body stilled. There was silence in the flat. Even the streets were quite, casual criminals seeming to take a night off in memory of a drunken prick who'd overdosed himself to death.

Silence. Complete darkness.

But maybe if there were a conscious body in that flat to see the blue LED screen light up, they'd be able to read the caller ID on the silver, beat up mobile.

_"Jase calling..."_


End file.
